


mary

by courfius



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: also. if u hate mary ur valid, she did try to kill 2 whole people, vague reference to garry possibly being guertena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfius/pseuds/courfius
Summary: There were few things a living painting could do.





	mary

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

Mary didn’t enjoy thinking of herself as a painting. She was human. That’s what _Father_ intended her to look like, right? What else could she be? 

 

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

She lived in a fabricated world. _Her_ fabricated world. In every corner hid fear, and in every painting hid hunger.

 

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

Then came them. Ib and _Garry_ . She spat out the man’s name, sliced it with her tongue as she would slice his throat with her palette knife. Ib, however, was different. She and Mary were the same age and the same height, and yet, they were so different. Ib was everything Mary wanted to be. She hated her for what she did not have. But, perhaps, Ib was just what Mary needed.

 

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

Ib was her ticket out of this fabricated painting of a world, but still the girl insisted on sticking with Garry. What could he do to help her, that Mary herself could not do? He was a coward, and worse, he knew of what she was.

  
  
There were few things a living painting could do.

  
  
Of course, the first reason why Garry was insufferable because of his likeness to _him_ . Mary shuttered and crumpled her thought.

 

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

The two _people,_ entered her crayon world, her safe haven. She had created it for herself, it was not meant to be touched. They could ruin it. Garry could burn it to absolute ash. Disgusting. 

 

There were few things a living painting could do.

 

Perhaps, what was needed to stop them from leaving without her was some sharp encouragement.

 

There were few ting a living painting could do.

  
They shouldn’t have been able to do it, but they did. And now Mary was burning, suffocating. She was the fire herself, her skin turning to ash as paper would have it. Her rose burned with her.

 

All Mary had wanted was to be loved. 

 

There were few things a living painting could do.


End file.
